Crumbles

[pjthompson]

Two from Sandra Cisneros, in honor of National Poetry Month.




A Man In My Bed Like Cracker Crumbs

I’ve stripped the bed
Shaken the sheets and slumped
Those fat pillows like tired tongues
Out the window for air and sun
To get to. I’ve let

The mattress lounge in
Its blue-striped dressing gown
I’ve punched and fluffed.
All morning. I’ve billowed and snapped.
Said my prayers to la Virgen de la soledad
And now I can sit down
To my typewriter and cup
Because she’s answered me.

Coffee’s good
Dust motes somersault and spin.
House clean.
I’m alone again.
Amen.


✍✍✍✍✍



Bay Poem from Berkeley

Mornings I still
reach for you before
    opening my eyes.

An antique habit from
last summer when we pulled
each other into the heat of groin
and belly, slept with an arm
around the other.

The Texans sun was like that.
Like a body asleep beside you.

But when I open my eyes
to the flannel and down,
mist at the window and blue
light from the bay, I remember
Where I am.

   This weight
on the other side of the bed
is only books, not you. What
I said I loved more than you.
True.

   Though these mornings
I wish books loved back.

—Sandra Cisneros


(From her collection, Loose Woman.)

Comments

[stillnotbored.livejournal.com]

I like those. :)

[pjthompson]

I think I can relate to them, although it's been so long... ;-)